


Sight Unseen

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, canon-typical warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: A sleepless summer night, and Elio encounters Oliver in a private moment.





	Sight Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't tag this as dub-con, because to me it seemed fairly ambiguous whether or not Oliver is really aware of Elio's presence, given how there's always more to their dancing around each other than meets the eye -- however, if that's a subject you're sensitive to, you might not want to read on.  
> Also, I haven't seen the film yet, so if any descriptions seem off, it's because I'm going purely off the visuals created by the book.

Shadows danced across the ceiling, moonlight filtering through the leaves as they were jostled to and fro by the light breeze that carried the scents of the summer night towards the house, and would occasionally cause the open shutters to knock back against the walls like the faintest tapping of a nighttime visitor. Perhaps that was why Elio couldn't sleep.

He was used to the heat that clung on until late in the night, and to the sound of insects and the distant rush of waves against the shoreline, to all the things that would keep the frequent visitors to the house awake. The thought, though, that there might be someone at the balcony, the balcony that connected to only one other room in the house, and Elio might be too deep in dreams to invite him inside; that thought had the power to consume Elio's mind, and hold sleep at bay. Just in case.

But he wouldn't knock.

He hadn't in the weeks he had been staying so far, despite Elio's sense that Oliver had been inching closer to him over recent days, the two of them sharing conversations that never wanted to end, and little touches that lit fires within Elio, touches that were growing more and more frequent. Elio had caught Oliver's eyes on him, with the intensity of a gaze that had lingered for some time, more than once already this week. And each time he'd delighted in the way Oliver would quickly avert his eyes as soon as Elio looked back at him, even as part of him begged Oliver not to look away.

He'd imagined what would have happened had Oliver ever held his gaze. In that fantasy, he would have knocked at Elio's door.

Elio glanced towards the balcony once again, as the picture resurfaced in his mind: Oliver stood silhouetted by the moonlight, silent while he crossed the room and climbed under the sheets, his body as naked and wanting as Elio's when they pressed tight against one another.

All he saw were the trees.

He pushed himself out of bed and stepped onto the balcony. The air was cooler out here, caressing Elio's face and torso, and chasing the heat creeping under his skin back down into his core where it could burn in peace. He looked around, and, though he'd known he would be no less alone than he had in his bedroom, he couldn't help frowning. Had he really expected to find Oliver out here, working up the nerve to take that fateful step into Elio's bedroom? His fantasies about Oliver had become so vivid, so numerous, they were taking on a life of their own, leaving reality so distant a second that he continued to find himself surprised when Oliver wasn't there to press Elio against a wall and kiss him breathless.

Perhaps he should stay out here for the rest of the night, and hope as the temperature dropped it would take the rest of Elio's raging libido with it. He might be able to focus on the real world again afterwards.

He had a suspicion that the real world would remain clouded by these flights of fancy as long as there remained a strapping, American god in the vicinity to act as a conduit to all of Elio's wildest thoughts. There was some part of him that was satisfied by that notion. Let reality wait until the summer was over; while Oliver was here, why not savour the dreams of what they might, in some fevered alternate universe, be able to do to one another?

There was a light shining in Oliver's room. Motivated by his unrelenting fantasies, or maybe just an impulse to look at him, to memorise every part of him before he was gone from Elio's life for good, Elio moved towards it. _Like a moth to a flame_ , he thought. If it was the light or Oliver himself that beckoned Elio in that analogy, he didn't have the presence of mind to wonder right now. He'd mull over the idea the next time thoughts of Oliver kept him awake at night.

With cautious footsteps, Elio reached the doors. If Oliver spotted him, he could brush it off as nothing, lie about having forgotten something in his former room, or needing a stroll along the balcony to stretch his legs. Maybe if he told Oliver the truth it would change something between them — for better or worse; an escape from the limbo they'd been stuck in all this time, the affection surging and ebbing between them like the tides. Maybe Oliver would hold Elio's gaze when Elio next caught him watching. He peered through the glass.

" _Oh_." The word escaped Elio before he was aware of it, punched out of his chest by the shock of the scene to which he'd found himself witness. His world tilted on its axis at the sight.

Oliver was indeed awake, but not sat at the desk working, or propped up in bed reading a book, like Elio had expected.

Elio swallowed. His mouth had become a desert.

He seemed even taller, somehow, his limbs even longer, stretched out on the bed. _Elio's_ _bed_. The deep, golden tan he'd accrued in the hours lazing by the pool stood out in brighter contrast against the unmarred skin of his bare hips. Elio didn't know where to look first, there was so much to take in at once. There was Oliver — beautiful, aloof Oliver — sprawled out atop Elio's bed; his skin just beginning to glimmer with the first pinpricks of sweat; his perfect features relaxed in ecstasy Elio could only dream of giving him; the cock Elio had spent so many hours picturing right there in the open for him to drink in, long, and hard, in the grip of Oliver's hand.

Maybe Elio had fallen asleep. This was a view too sublime to be anything but a creation of his ravished mind. Oliver had girls — he could have had every girl in the town if he'd wanted, every girl in all of Italy, and the rest of the world to boot — he didn't need to tend to his own sexual frustration the way Elio did, imagining a body that he couldn't touch above him.

But Elio could feel the rough stone of the balcony beneath his bare feet. He could feel the cool breeze on his skin. He could feel the growing pressure in his hardening cock. He reached down into his shorts and gave himself a sharp squeeze, and his every nerve ending came alive with the sensation. Finally, reality had caught up with his fantasies.

It had gone one better, actually. Elio had only ever had his imagination to rely on before, and his dedicated study of Oliver in his bathing suit. He'd been able to replicate a few details with accuracy — Oliver's broad chest beneath Elio's fingertips, his strong arms wrapping around him, the way the sunlight would bounce off Oliver's blond hair as he knelt to take Elio in his mouth — but this was new. There was nothing that could have prepared Elio for what arousal would make of Oliver's expression, or how his cock looked when it was hard.

It was bigger than Elio had imagined.

Even Oliver's large hands could only cover half of it; Elio's body sparked like a lit fuse at the thought of how big it would look in Elio's hands, and how much of Elio's cock Oliver could take in his.

He took another step closer to the door. His eyes were trained on Oliver's cock: the way he dragged his hand over it, working the shaft while he brought his other hand down to tease the head beneath his thumb. It might have been the most valuable piece of information Elio could ever store in his brain. Even if he never got to utilise what he'd learn, the knowledge of how Oliver liked to be touched would take pride of place in his mind forever.

Yet as he watched, a cold, ugly surge of jealousy settled in his gut, entwining itself with his burning arousal. The nights he'd dreamt about touching Oliver like this, knowing the dream was as close as he'd ever get, and here Oliver was, gliding his hands over himself, like a taunt aimed directly at Elio, a ploy to drive him wild. The worst part was that it was working. He wanted to be Oliver's hands on that beautiful cock. He wanted to take it into his mouth and choke on it, to climb on top of Oliver and feel it press deep into him, deeper than even his own fingers had ventured. He wanted to offer himself up to Oliver to do with as he pleased.

Elio couldn't just watch any longer. His hands slid to the waistband of his shorts, working them down his thighs to free his aching erection, and he closed a hand around himself. It was almost like getting to be with Oliver, in a way; even if it wasn't his hands on Elio's body, even if Oliver had no idea it had ever happened, this was something they'd shared, touching themselves together, separated only by some wood and glass. He wondered if Oliver could still smell him on the sheets, if he would come with that tiny piece of Elio inside him.

Maybe the two of them would come together.

Oliver had to have been at this for some time by now. He was all red and gold: a growing flush across his tanned skin, his cheeks, his neck, his chest; the chain around his neck glinting bright in the lamp's warm glow with each laboured rise and fall of his chest; his bottom lip bitten crimson between his teeth. His nipples were hard peaks, and Elio squeezed one of his own between his thumb and forefinger, as if it was Oliver's. He was saying something, or moaning, perhaps, his lips moving in the way of one trying desperately to stay quiet, but with the doors closed Elio couldn't hear, couldn't give life to that impossible shred of hope that it was his name on Oliver's lips. If he pushed the doors open just an inch, would Oliver notice it?

He didn't dare. He'd never considered himself a cowardly person, yet in that moment Elio would have given anything to be just a little braver. To nudge the handle down and press against the wood, and if the hinges creaked, perhaps that would be a good thing, too.

_Come on, Oliver,_ Elio implored, silent as he worked his cock faster to match Oliver's hastening movements on his own, _just look over this way, and open that door for me. Just let me cross those last ten feet to your bed._

What would Oliver do if he spotted Elio? There was no mistaking his intentions now; with his heart racing in his chest and his body feeling as if it might overheat at any moment, Elio couldn't have looked in a much better state that Oliver did, and still he was stroking himself. Perhaps Oliver would be so close to climax that even Elio's body would satisfy him, and he'd prompt Elio to step inside — or would he join Elio on the balcony, bend him over the railings and fuck into him until Elio's hips were bruised and they were both crying out into the night?

Elio gasped at the thought.

He wasn't sure how much longer he'd last. His toes were curling against the stone, his thighs aching from the tension building in his body, his hips desperate to thrust towards his palm. But this was a treat he'd be granted the privilege of enjoying only once, and he was going to see it through to the end. He was going to watch Oliver come. Even if he had to force his eyes open and bite down hard on his lip to keep his own climax at bay to do it.

Luckily Oliver seemed about as far gone as Elio was himself. He'd dropped one leg off the bed to better leverage himself, and was fucking into his fist with abandon, his cock flushed a painful-looking shade of red that begged for the soothing touch of Elio's tongue upon it. With his eyes squeezed shut tight and his brows furrowed the same way they did when Elio watched him deep in concentration, Oliver dragged his free hand over the tensing muscles in his stomach and down to caress his balls.

Elio echoed his movement. If he let his mind wander just enough, he could almost believe it was Oliver touching him, and his own hands on Oliver.

Briefly, he wondered if he'd be able to look Oliver in the eye tomorrow morning. He wasn't sure he'd be able to even think of Oliver again without seeing him like this.

The head of Oliver's cock was glistening wet, before it disappeared back beneath his eager hand, circling and thumbing at himself with the confidence of one who knew exactly what he liked. Elio had never thought to touch himself that way. He wouldn't have imagined it would feel good, not like the push and pull of mimicking being inside someone did, but there was no denying Oliver was enjoying it. Elio teased his thumb across his own slit before curling his palm over the head and twisting, and had to slap his other hand against the wall to keep himself from lurching forward. He did it again, studying Oliver's hands to replicate their glorious effect on himself, until Oliver's mouth dropped open and his head fell back against the pillow. His body tensed and relaxed like there was a current running through him as he coated his stomach and chest with his cum.

What Elio would give to be the one to clean it off of him. He'd use his mouth, licking every drop and savouring the taste. Perhaps Oliver would want Elio to kiss him with it still on his tongue, to taste himself in Elio's mouth and know that Elio was his. Elio came with that picture in his mind.

He watched Oliver pull his hand away from his softening cock and drop it uselessly to his side, as, even with the high of his own orgasm still coursing through his bloodstream, Elio felt a pang of sadness that this irreplaceable moment between them was over. But the languid smile that spread across Oliver's face while he let out a private laugh to himself was enough to drive it away. Elio had had Oliver, not in the way that he wanted, but in some way, at least. If this was all that he would get, if the rest of the summer passed with nothing more than those strangely intimate yet distant touches Oliver seemed to think nothing of gifting upon Elio's skin, then maybe it would be enough for him.

Oliver opened his eyes. Elio should have stepped away right then, while Oliver was still gazing unfocused up at the ceiling, but he didn't. He'd dreamed of how Oliver would look in this moment, hazy-eyed and indolent in the wake of pleasure, smiling up at Elio. He was too preoccupied committing every aspect of post-coital Oliver to memory that it took a second to sink in when he glanced towards the doors.

A cold clutch of panic in his chest, and Elio pressed himself back against the wall, his heart thudding against his rib cage as fast as it had when he'd come. He could only hope that he had moved too quickly for Oliver to see him. All Oliver would have to do, though, was open the doors and see the stain of Elio's release on the wood. He would know there was only one likely culprit.

Elio couldn't clean it off now, though, not while Oliver was still awake. He'd get up early in the morning and erase the evidence before anyone could find it. Or maybe he'd leave it there, and hope Oliver noticed.

A thrill raced through Elio at the thought.

With the lethargy that often swamped him after he came just barely held at bay by the exhilaration of what he'd done, Elio crept back into his room. He didn't bother to close the doors behind him. If there was some tiny pinprick of a chance that Oliver would follow him, he didn't want the closed doors to pose the same barrier that Elio hadn't dared to cross. For the same reason, perhaps, he slipped out of his shorts, leaving them where they fell, and climbed back onto his bed without bothering to pull the covers over himself.

Not for the first time, he lay as an offering to Oliver, if only he would just come and see, but at least this time when Elio would inevitably have nothing but his own hand to satisfy him, the images in his mind would have the sweet hint of authenticity to them. He closed his eyes, and waited for a moment that would never come.

And maybe he'd already begun to drift off into dreams, but after a moment, Elio could have sworn he heard footsteps on the balcony.


End file.
